


As Perfect As Any One Person Could Be

by stevergrsno (noxlunate)



Series: Two Stubborn Super Soldiers And A Magic Baby [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Body Image, Body Worship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Post Mpreg, Shapewear, Weight Gain, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 10:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18050609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/stevergrsno
Summary: “What on earth is this?”It’s black and soft, made of some sort of material incredibly reminiscent of the compression shirts Steve wears under his uniform.“It’s an undergarment, Steve. Tucks everything in and smooths it all down. Trust me, as a woman and a former spy-”“Former?”“-As aformerspy, I know my shapewear.”In which Steve's body doesn't snap back to his post serum "perfection" as soon as he'd expect, shapewear is involved, and Bucky enjoys all of it.





	As Perfect As Any One Person Could Be

**Author's Note:**

> [softestbuck](https://twitter.com/softestbuck) over on twitter started yelling about Steve in shapewear awhile back and this crawled into my brain and refused to leave. So please enjoy 5k of Steve Rogers and his body issues, shapewear, and some good ol' body worship.

It’s like this: The thing that surprises Steve most about having Grant isn’t the long nights, or how much he loves his kid, the rampant emotions that have yet to go away, or the fact that he finds himself fighting the urge to snap any time strangers want to touch his baby. 

It’s the fact that his body isn’t  _ the same.  _

Maybe it’d been stupid, but there had been a huge part of him that had expected the serum to do whatever it does and him to be exactly as he was before getting knocked up within a few days of Grant being born. 

He isn’t. It doesn’t. It’s been a couple months now and his body  _ still  _ isn’t the same. 

He frowns into the mirror, poking at his soft stomach like maybe he can will the serum to kick in and turn the extra fat into muscle again. It reminds him of being sixteen again, staring into the mirror and hoping he might fill out one day; of being 25 and stepping out of a steel tube to be met with a body whose size he had no idea what to do with. 

“I think you might need to actually work out if you want to get rid of that.” Bucky says from his spot perched on the the bathroom counter, jarring Steve from his thoughts when he reaches out a finger to poke at Steve’s stomach. The poke turns into something a little more possessive when he splays his hand flat across Steve’s stomach, fingers pressing gently into the softness there. “Not that I’m sure why you’d want to. I like it.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll fit working out right along no sleep and Grant’s love of screaming like he’s dying.” Steve grumbles, shooting a look back to their room where Grant’s sleeping  _ for once. _

He’s so peaceful when he sleeps. It almost makes Steve believe he’s not a shrieking devil the rest of the time. 

_ Almost.  _

God, Steve _loves_ _him_. 

“I like it,” Bucky repeats, dragging his gaze in a slow up and down over Steve. Which,  _ no.  _

“No. Stop giving me that look. I know that look. I’m too exhausted for that look.” Steve is pretty sure he’s  _ never  _ been this tired. Not during war _ ,  _ not before the serum, not  _ ever.  _ People keep telling him to just sleep when the baby sleeps, but those people are idiots who either don’t have kids or don’t remember their kids being fucking newborns. 

“Since when have you ever been too exhausted for that look?” Bucky’s eyebrows arch up incredulously, every inch of him disbelieving. 

“Since you knocked me up, asshole.” Steve softens the words with a kiss that soon turns into something a little more as Steve’s hands find their way into Bucky’s hair and Bucky’s hands get a grip on Steve’s hips, drawing him closer. 

And then,  _ of course,  _ the baby starts screaming.

Neither of them mention it for awhile, but another two weeks later and the extra padding is still stubbornly sticking around. 

There’s some Avengers thing that Steve would like to claim he’s not going to because he’s  _ retired,  _ but that everyone, including Bucky, is going to and insisting he has to as well. 

Steve attempts to dodge that bullet. He even goes so far as to hold Grant up in front of him as a shield and insist that he absolutely can’t leave his child, his flesh and blood, the light of his  _ life _ .

“I can’t leave him,” Steve insists, holding Grant out dramatically to illustrate exactly why he can’t go to the party, “I’m his father. It’d be irresponsible.” 

Bucky, because he’s the worst and Steve is stupidly in love with an asshole, rolls his eyes at Steve’s dramatics.

“We can leave Grant with someone for one night Steve. The world won’t actually end if we go have some fun.” 

“Okay, but how can you  _ really  _ be sure of that?” 

_ “Steve.”  _

“Bucky?” Steve aims to appear innocent of all crimes, but disbelief is etched into every feature on Bucky’s stupidly charming face. 

“Steve,” Bucky starts again, taking Grant from Steve’s arms and plopping him down into the swing/bouncy seat thing that somebody had sworn they _had to have_ and that has so far turned out to be an actual life saver, “I want to go out with you. I want to shower and shave my damn face and let someone we trust take care of Grant for a few hours while you and I go have _fun._ I want to drink booze that won’t get us drunk and I want to dance with you and and then I want to come home and either nap, or preferably, actually get a chance to have sex with the father of my child without said child somehow finding the exact worst time to interrupt us with the proof that he’s definitely your son and is going to grow up to be as loud and angry as you are. Can we do that, sweetheart?” 

Bucky’s a cheater, pairing his words with well placed biting kisses to Steve’s jaw, every inch of him pressed close to Steve.  Even if Bucky wasn’t making some decent points, and even if the thought of getting to spend a few hours as just SteveandBucky, instead of SteveandBucky The Perpetually Exhausted New Parents didn’t sound like bliss, the cheating means Bucky would still be winning this argument. 

“Fine. Yeah. Okay. Let’s go to this damn party. It can’t be that bad can it?” 

 

It is that bad. It’s that bad and Steve hasn’t even gotten there. Steve hasn’t even found a suit for it yet. Because Steve’s body isn’t what it was just months before and  _ nothing fits.  _

“Kid,” Steve starts, staring Grant down where he sits in his bouncy chair while Steve attempts to sift through every suit in his closet for something that fits. Unfortunately, he didn’t have many to begin with so the pickings are slim, “You’re the reason I’m gonna show up to a party in sweatpants.” 

Grant does not look ashamed. If anything, the spit bubble he blows seems  _ smug.  _

“You’re not showing up in sweatpants,” Bucky says, sweeping in like he owns the place. Which Steve supposes he half does, technically. 

“They’re expensive sweatpants?” Steve tries, grabbing a pair out of the pile on the floor of his closet and shaking them in Bucky’s direction like they’ll somehow prove his point, “I could be like whatstheirfaces? The Kardashians. They wear sweatpants for fashion.” 

“When you have a reality show and make half a million bucks an instagram post you can wear sweatpants to parties too.” 

Steve stares blankly at Bucky, the love of his life, the father of his child, the best friend he’s ever had, who somehow knows more about reality television stars than seems strictly appropriate. Steve thinks this might be a problem. Steve also thinks he could go the rest of his life without having to watch The Bachelor or Real Housewives or fucking  _ Teen Mom _ while Loki and Bucky heckle it from the comfort of Steve’s couch. 

“I earned my money without instagram, thank you very much,” Steve says instead of arguing that he could do that if he wanted to. Mostly because that’s a lie and he couldn’t. Some of the many, many people involved in Avengers PR desperately wanted him to have social media at one point but he mostly uses it to post pictures of cool sunsets and the neighbor’s adorable corgi and Grant’s teeny tiny hands so they’ve given up on Steve being any sort of large social media presence. He’s even been expressly forbidden from reactivating his twitter after Buzzfeed caught wind of him getting into arguments with Donald Trump, anti-vaxers, and once, someone who was very inaccurately arguing that Captain America was probably a dog person who hates cats. 

“Oh yeah Rogers, sleeping in the middle of the ocean for seven decades while your backpay racked up is real hard work.” 

Steve, instead of acknowledging Bucky, turns his attention back to Grant, “Your father’s rude, you know that?”  

Grant, because he’s a traitor, shows no outward sign of agreeing with Steve. 

“See, he loves me most,” Bucky says, suddenly behind Steve, his chin hooked over Steve’s shoulder and his arms sliding around Steve’s waist, body pressed up tight against Steve’s back and hands pressing wide over Steve’s stomach. Bucky kisses the curve of Steve’s shoulder and slides the tips of his fingers just beneath the waistband of Steve’s pants, not going in any sort of direction with it, just  _ resting _ there, and Steve feels- 

Steve feels  _ too much.  _ The feeling swells up beneath his chest, down to his toes, lifting him up and anchoring him all at once. 

“And you’re not wearing sweatpants, Steve. We’ll call Nat, she’ll find you something.” 

 

Natasha shows up two hours before the party is supposed to start in a horrifying neon purple track suit with her hair in a high ponytail and a garment bag over her shoulder, Clint in tow. She pops a gum bubble and then throws the bag at Steve and swans into Steve and Bucky’s bedroom to drape herself across their bed. 

“I’d like to state for the record that I had no part in this,” Clint says as he trails after her. 

“What’s this?” Steve asks, eyeing the bag skeptically like a bomb might go off if he’s not careful with it. 

“You’re clothes for tonight,” Natasha says, kicking off her shoes and settling herself against Steve’s tower of pillows, “Somebody hand me my nephew.” 

Bucky, because he’s  _ soft,  _ passes her Grant so that she can settle him in her lap and pretend she knows how to handle a baby for all of ten minutes. For being a spy, Steve has never seen someone even half as awkward with a baby as Natasha is. 

Steve watches for a moment as Natasha very carefully holds Grant and wiggles his toes, then he turns to the garment bag and slides the zipper down, revealing a suit and a bag hanging over the hanger. 

“Put on what’s in the bag first,” Natasha instructs and Steve catches sight of her out of the very corner of his eye very carefully lifting Grant so that she can nudge her nose into the top of his soft, fluffy head. He very politely does not point out how adorable it is. 

Steve sighs and obeys, expecting something ridiculous, and getting exactly that. “What on earth is this?” 

It’s black and soft, made of some sort of material incredibly reminiscent of the compression shirts Steve wears under his uniform. 

“It’s an undergarment, Steve. Tucks everything in and smooths it all down. Trust me, as a woman and a former spy-”

_ “Former?”  _

“-As a  _ former spy,  _ I know my shapewear.” 

“She does know her shapewear. She made me wear one of her corsets once. Felt kinda nice.” Clint says with a shrug, sprawling out across the end of Steve and Bucky’s bed and watching Natasha with Grant. Steve’s not entirely sure when his bedroom became the hangout spot for his friends and former colleagues, but apparently this is his new life. 

Bucky’s expression has gone considering as he eyes Steve up and down, very clearly imagining something involving Steve and corsets that Steve’s not quite sure he wants him imagining just yet, “Don’t even think about it.” 

“I’m not thinking about anything,” Bucky says innocently and then shoves Steve towards the bathroom, “Go put on your clothes, Steve.” 

Steve stares at the shiny slip of fabric feeling like it’s a bomb he’s supposed to figure out how to neutralize without Bucky or Tony in his ear telling him how and what color wire to cut. 

The thing itself isn’t  _ much.  _ Just shiny black fabric that makes up a pair of shorts connected to a waist with a line of hook and eye closures and a set of straps. 

He tugs it on, wiggling in an effort to get the shorts part up and over his thighs and half convinced that there’s no way it will fit over his shoulders. 

The material around his waist gapes open in a v, stretched wide over his stomach and Steve, instead of focusing on whether or not that bothers him, and just how different his body is than it was just a year ago, focuses on doing up the waist with the hook and eye loops. 

Steve smooths his hands up over his waist, over the smooth, silky fabric, and it feels- Well it feels  _ nice.  _ Nothing’s tight to the point of pain, but it’s  _ present-  _ it’s  _ there,  _ a sort of reassuring pressure against him when he breathes. 

He presses a hand to his stomach, breathes in, breathes out, lets himself feel the tightness for just a moment. And then, he plucks up the first piece of the suit and puts it on. 

 

The party goes well, even if Steve is constantly reminding himself of the fact that Grant is only in Harlem with Mrs. Wilson and that Mrs. Wilson has raised three children- one of which was  _ Sam- _ and taken care of multiple grandchildren and she can handle Grant, she  _ can. _

Despite this constant reminder, Steve’s not exactly doing well with it, even if  _ knows  _ that he and Bucky  _ do  _ desperately need an evening without a screaming infant. 

“Dance with me,” Bucky says, taking both of Steve’s hands and using them to tug him in close. It’s an obvious ploy to distract Steve, and Steve’s not falling for it. Even if it  _ does  _ work. The most important fact is that Steve is aware of what exactly Bucky’s doing, even if he allows it. 

“I don’t think this is that kind of party,” Steve insists, gesturing sort of vaguely to emphasise the fact that the background music is, well, in the background. It’s a party sure, but really it seems to mostly be an excuse for past and present Avengers and a couple SHIELD agents to get together, drink, and eat fancy appetizers all funded by Stark. Not that Steve minds, there’s an obscenely delicious bacon wrapped  _ something  _ that keeps making its way around the room that Steve can’t resist. 

“There’s music, Rogers, that means it’s that kind of party,” Bucky says, arms around Steve’s waist, already dragging him into a slow sort of shuffle whether Steve’s willing or not. 

If he’s honest, Steve’s usually willing. He just likes to gripe about it first. 

Steve follows, the same way he always has, tucking his face into the side of Bucky’s neck and letting him lead while murmuring about everything and nothing in what Steve is fully aware is just another ploy to distract Steve from dwelling on where and how Grant is doing. 

Fully aware or not, just like the dancing, it works. 

 

Eventually Bucky says “Wanna get out of here and go sleep for ten hours?” and Steve says “God,” and “ _ Yes,”  _ and they make their escape back to Brooklyn and  _ home _ . 

Bucky herds Steve to their bed almost immediately, strong arming him into laying the hell down and then shoving Steve’s shirt up under his armpits, revealing the contraption underneath. 

“What happened to sleeping?” Steve asks as Bucky rocks back on his knees, sliding his hands over Steve’s ribs, tracing the seams with careful fingertips, and then again, this time firmly, the touch somehow both muted and more intense. 

“I’m distracting you first.” Bucky says, abandoning his exploration of Steve’s underthings and turning his attention to working on the buttons of Steve’s shirt, “Besides, you’ve been all wrapped up like the world’s best present and I’ve been itching to unwrap it.” 

“Right. Everyone knows a guy with a post baby body is the best sort of present.” Steve scoffs, wiggling like he might attempt to get away. Bucky  abandons his quest to get Steve out of his clothes and shoves him back into the bed. 

“Small, big, hard, soft, I find you hot as hell however I can get ya dollface.” Bucky says and Steve feels himself heat up at the words, his squirming having nothing to do with an urge to get away this time. 

“You’re so weird.” Steve says, drags Bucky down to him so he can catch him in a filthy kiss. 

“Listen, if you’re allowed to get off on my metal arm than I’m allowed to get off on the body that gave me my son.” 

“Literally?” Steve asks, arching until they’re pressed together, the soft silky fabric of Steve’s underthings and the stiff fabric of Bucky’s suit the only things that separate them. 

“Fuck yes. Metaphorically  _ and  _ literally,” Bucky says, and then, “Now about that unwrapping.” 

Steve, fond and more than a little in love, leans back and sprawls out, an invitation for Bucky to do exactly what he wants. 

 

Bucky takes his time about it. He starts with Steve’s shoes, pulling them off and rolling down his socks, kissing the ball of Steve’s ankle before he moves upwards. His mouth, soft and wet, presses kisses against Steve’s stomach while he works on the fly of Steve’s pants, the feeling through the soft fabric that same muted but still somehow  _ too much  _ of before. 

His mouth follows the pants as they go down, a kiss to his thigh through the fabric of the shorts, another to each knee, each calf. And then he’s back up, shooting a look at Steve that stops any words that might have formed before he makes slow work of the rest of Steve’s shirt buttons,  sliding the fabric off Steve’s shoulders, his mouth chasing a hot line after it. 

Bucky leans back, taking all of Steve in, eyes dark and intent and effective at what Steve is sure is his goal to make Steve squirm. 

“Jesus, look at you,  _ sweetheart.”  _

Steve does just that, exaggerating the motion of looking down, “I’m lookin. You gonna finish your unwrapping or what?”

"Shh, I'm savoring this Rogers," Bucky says, smoothing his hands up and over Steve's ribs, something careful and almost reverent about it.

Steve feels that gaze in his chest, in his ribs, something too big to fit underneath the tight stretch of the fabric wrapped around him.

"I ever tell you how gorgeous you are?" Bucky asks, spreading his hands wide over Steve's stomach, fingertips tracing absent circles into the silky fabric and making Steve shiver.

Bucky has told Steve he's gorgeous only every time they’ve fucked since they were sixteen. He's got a mouth that goes a million miles a minute when he gets riled up and Steve's always been good at doing the riling, at triggering whatever it is that makes Bucky start spilling filth and praise and endearments. It's a wonder it took so long for Steve to realize the asshole was in love with him.

"Maybe a few times," Steve says, breathless already from the tightness around his ribs and Bucky above him, thick thighs encasing Steve's between them.

"I'll make it a hundred thousand more then. Maybe even a million, honey." Bucky's hands smooth upwards, pressing into his ribs before sliding up until they cup Steve's chest where it's exposed, the top of the shapewear sitting just beneath it, "And these, babydoll, have you taken a look at  _ these?  _ I swear to God they got even bigger darlin. And how they look like  _ this? _ Even better like this, all framed like a goddamn picture."

Bucky goes so far as to lift his hands and form a frame with them, obviously taking in Steve's chest.

Steve rolls his eyes at Bucky, this ridiculous human who Steve is so in love with that it fucking  _ hurts  _ sometimes, and reaches up, wrapping a hand around Bucky's wrist and dragging his hand back down to Steve's chest. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

"Don't test me Stevie, I just might. Gotta have photographic proof. Something to keep me warm at night when you feel the inevitable call of saving the world."

"I'm retired."

"Uh-huh, sure you are," Bucky agrees, clearly humoring Steve. Before Steve can call him on it he's scratching his fingernails across one nipple while dipping down to suck a mark into his other pec that will disappear almost as fast as Bucky puts it there. It never seems to stop Bucky from trying though.

Steve makes a noise that gets half caught in his throat, instincts torn between pushing up into the touch and flinching away.

"You were going to say?" Bucky asks when he pulls away, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

"You're an asshole," Steve says, not meaning for it to sound even half as breathless as it does.

"You love me," Bucky argues, fingers working over the hook and eye closures quickly now, opening each one and spreading the fabric apart as he goes, revealing more and more of Steve underneath. "Lookit this. It's like Christmas morning, all for me."

When each and every closure is undone he slides the straps down Steve's shoulders and gently shoves at Steve's hips until he raises them enough that Bucky can slowly roll the undergarment down his thighs, pausing with them rolled halfway down to Steve's knees so that he can make suck a mark into Steve's inner thigh. 

Finally, the damn thing is entirely off and Bucky seems perfectly content to just  _ look at him  _ for a moment. A moment that seems to drag on until Steve can't handle it any longer and grabs at Bucky's shoulders, pulling him down and into Steve's space.

"I'm different, I know. Eye on the prize Barnes," Steve says and it feels maybe like an echo of something he might have said a hundred years ago, Bucky fresh out of Azzano with wandering hands that couldn't quite grasp the change in Steve.

Steve thinks that really, he should be used to his body being something malleable by now, something subject to change, from small to big and hard to soft.

"I think I've got my eye on my prize sweetheart," Bucky says, resting the length of his body fully against Steve's, miles of fabric pressed against Steve's naked skin.

It makes Steve's toes curl, makes him press up into Bucky like a cat searching for attention.

"Is the prize me going insane because you've got me worked up and naked while you haven't even taken your damn tie off? Because if so you're awfully fucking close."

"Aw, sweetheart, I didn't know you were so affected," Bucky says, smiling like the smuggest motherfucker in the world. And then he wraps his flesh hand around Steve's dick, proof that he knows exactly what he's doing to Steve.

Of course he does. Bucky always knows what he's doing to Steve.

_ "Fuck,"  _ Steve swears, thumping his head back against the pillow, arching up into the slide of Bucky's hand, eyes falling closed as he sinks into the sensation.

And then, because Bucky is as terrible as he is wonderful, it  _ stops. _

He leans back, eyes bright as they roam over Steve again, making Steve feel  _ seen  _ in a way he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to. 

“God.  _ Babydoll _ .” Bucky looks at Steve- at every inch of him, at every new lump and bump that's developed- like he's something beautiful. Like he wants to eat him up like a sundae on a hot day at Coney Island. Like Steve is every good thing he never thought he could have and somehow lucked into. It's a look that's starting to get familiar, and one that Steve knows is mirrored on his own face.

"You gonna fuck me or just stare me all day?" Steve asks, impatient and wanting under Bucky's gaze.

"Patience, sweetheart. I know you've never had a goddamn ounce of it, but I'm gonna look my fill," He grasps at Steve's hips, at the softness there, "I love this, you know? I've told you before I'll always be hot for you any way I can get ya. But this? Jesus fucking christ, you're a goddamn masterpiece like this. You gave me the fucking world with this."

Bucky's hands squeeze hard at Steve's hips as he ducks down to bite a kiss into the meat of Steve's stomach, the soft parts of him that his supposed supersoldier metabolism have yet to eat away at.

"You sure you didn't get into Thor's liquor at the party?" Steve asks, a hitch in his words he's not about to admit to when Bucky does his best attempt at biting and sucking a mark into the skin low on Steve's stomach.

"You got some kind of need to argue about every little damn thing?"

"It's part of my charm. You love me for it."

"God help us all, I do."

"I always knew it'd either be my charm or my rack that hooked someone."

"The rack certainly helped," Bucky's grin lights up in the way it does when he's up to something, though it should be expected in this instance considering Bucky's up to the exact thing he's always seemed to love getting up to the most- driving Steve insane.

His lips make a path upwards until they reach the swell of Steve's chest and he places a kiss to each pec.

"Speaking of your rack. These are a goddamn dream sweetheart and I can't believe I only spent a moment worshiping them earlier. I need to rectify that. Show you how much I appreciate the whole damn package." 

"Oh no," Steve says, full of fake dread, sliding his hands into Bucky's hair and twisting his fingers up in the strands so that he can tug him up further, get Bucky caught in a kiss that lasts until they're pressed together and breathless, "When are you planning to show that appreciation?"

"Well if you'd let me get to it instead of fighting me every thirty seconds you'd see."

"Alright,” Steve breathes, “Okay." Steve does his best to dramatically flop while already laying down, dropping his arms out to the side, "Have your way with me."

Bucky does. He seems to make it a mission to kiss and touch every inch of Steve, working his way down Steve’s throat, across his shoulders and down his arms, lavishing attention to the bend of his elbows, the knobs of his wrist; kissing reverently at the tips of each finger. 

He traces gentle fingers along the jagged lines that cover Steve’s stomach and hips. 

He presses _‘I love you’_ s and _‘darling, look what you do to me’_ s into the swell of Steve’s abdomen. 

Every inch of Steve becomes something to be treasured, a blank page to be filled up with Bucky’s devotion, and when he’s done Steve feels filled up to bursting, small in the best sort of way, the one only Bucky has ever made him. 

And then, when he seems satisfied that Steve is practically dying with it, Bucky settles between Steve’s legs and takes him apart with one- two- then three fingers. 

Steve’s always loved this, had loved it when they were idiot kids figuring this shit out for the first time and loves it now. He loves it the other way too, can’t get enough of Bucky any way he can get him, but there’s something about Bucky’s hands on him, Bucky’s touch  _ in  _ him that leaves him feeling raw and like a livewire in a way he’s never quite managed to get enough of. 

Bucky’s mouth closes over Steve’s cock and it’s an almost embarrassingly short amount of time after that before Steve is overwhelmed with it, spilling down Bucky’s throat, gasping his name. 

There’s a moment for Steve to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging Bucky up to him, kissing him hard, hands scrambling to get Bucky out of his pants. Bucky catches Steve’s hand with his own before he can wrap it around Bucky’s dick and then they’re pressed together, Bucky’s cock sliding in the sweat slick space between their stomachs. 

There’s not much of a rhythm to it, not pressed together the way they are, but Bucky doesn’t seem to care. He can’t seem to stop making bitten off noises into Steve’s mouth, words failing him in the way Steve knows they always do when he’s close, nothing but “Steve-  _ God- Steve-”  _ falling from his lips when he comes between them. 

  
  


Later, Steve will wake up and he will stumble to the crib before he remembers Grant is not there. He will insist on crossing town in the time where it’s not quite night anymore, but not quote morning either to knock on Mrs. Wilson’s door and fetch his son, and she will hand him over with the sort of understanding only someone who has raised three children and understands that first gasping breath, that unceasing swell of anxiety over leaving them for the first time can have. 

He’ll take Grant back home to the apartment he shares with Bucky, their little home in Brooklyn, a few blocks and a million years from the cold water flat they’d shared before. And maybe, just maybe, he and Bucky will sleep for another hour before Grant wakes them up shrieking like the devil himself and they have to start their day, do all the things that make them parents, and all the things that make them feel a little more human these days.  

And maybe he’ll look into the mirror and marvel over changes made over not just the past year, but also the last few, and maybe he won’t. Maybe the way Bucky makes him feel when they’re alone, pressed together in this space will transfer over, will follow him through into the other moments. And maybe it won’t. It probably won’t, because Steve for all his strengths has never- even when he was given a body that was meant to be perfection- been all that good at seeing the things that Bucky insists are perfect. 

But now, curled into Bucky in their bed, his nose pressed into the soft curve of Bucky’s throat and Bucky’s arms around him, fingertips tracing absent shapes into the stretch of skin over his hips, he feels about as perfect as he thinks any one person can be.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this come scream about Marvel with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/attackofthezee)!


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